


Follies and Nonsense

by roxyryoko



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Doublespeak, F/M, Ferdie is green with Envy, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Vague Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29509035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko
Summary: Before the start of a jousting tournament, Dorothea gifts Ferdinand her favor. He takes it as a sign of their improved relationship-- perhaps even as proof of her requited feelings--but as he observes her companionable conversations with Caspar, Ferdinand cannot but help to believe her affections lie elsewhere.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 23
Kudos: 43





	Follies and Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Ferdinand week, Day 1: Tournaments/Competition, but I'm sloooooow. Thank you Madame Hyde and Kaerra for helping me reword some dialogue. 💕

Ferdinand had underestimated Leonie. Worse, he'd believed himself invincible.

Hubris always met nemesis in opera, and, this time, he was the leading man in one of those tragic tales.

The jousting tournament had started out in his favor, as all those stories do. Love— a cause worthy of the noblest of victories— had propelled him through match after match, earning him a wealth of points and his rightful place in the finals. 

When the bellow of a bugle announced the start of the final run, Ferdinand was more determined than ever to seize victory. He struck bold, powerfully, and with precision. His lance splintered to fragments against Leonie’s chest— an achievement which would surely secure three more points to his tally. However, inexplicably, Leonie’s weapon bypassed his defense and struck his shoulder. The force wrenched his hands from the reins. 

As he stumbled from his horse, he realized it was not hubris that had been his folly. It was something far worse. 

Jealousy.

_“A-ha, there’s the worker bee,” Dorothea giggled as she skipped to the arena outskirts where Ferdinand prepped with his squire. Her hands were peculiarly behind her back, concealing something indiscernible. “Ready for the joust? Caspar and me are making a little bet on who’ll win.”_

_Ferdinand patted the side of his steed’s rust-colored neck. “Ah, most intriguing. If that is the case, I do hope you will wager on Odysseus and I.”_

_“That certain you’ll win, Ferdie?”_

_"Well, I cannot foretell the fates." He flashed her a smile that was probably more rueful than confident. "But knowing you believe in my ability would gladden my heart beyond measure.”_

_“Is that so? Well, all right then. I’ll bet on you.” She revealed the object behind her back: a crimson cotton scarf with a few embroidered roses. Carefully, Dorothea tied it to Ferdinand’s forearm, causing his breath to hitch. “But if I do, I expect you to win. Drones shouldn’t disappoint their queen, you know.”_

_She smiled sweetly, and in that instant Ferdinand felt infallible._

Ferdinand hit the ground with a thud. White light stole his vision, but a vague image flickered in his mind. Slowly, Dorothea’s demure, closed mouth smile transformed into a toothy, wide grin. 

Yet, that smile had not been for him.

_“Doing pretty good, Ferdinand!” Caspar commended as he hung over the rail barring the arena from the stands. “But my money’s on Leonie for the final round. Sorry buddy.”_

_Dorothea came up behind him and teased, “And what exactly is your reasoning for that, Caspar?”_

_“My instinct, obviously!” A grin unfurled across his face. “Besides, Leonie’s got a mean punch. She even whooped Felix in a fight! Can’t see her losing, nope.”_

_Dorothea laughed, “That’s just a rumor!”_

_“Nuh-uh! Even Felix admitted he lost! He just won’t spill the details!”_

_Her laughter grew more boisterous, and Ferdinand’s heart writhed with envy._

_“It is beneath a nobleman to consider rumors truth, Caspar,” Ferdinand stated._

_Stung, he mounted Odysseus and cantered back to the center of the arena, resolute to prove Caspar wrong for all the wrong reasons._

When Ferdinand awoke, the worried countenance of Dorothea graced his swollen eyes. He blinked once, twice, thrice, to make certain he wasn’t dreaming. 

To his astonishment, she was real.

Dorothea’s features lit up and she whispered, “Good morning, Ferdie.”

She brushed a stray lock of hair from his eye, and then quickly retracted her hand. It was but a skittish, short-lived touch, but it sizzled electricity from his head to his toes. Simultaneously, an uncertainty—or was it guilt?—settled in his stomach: was it right to chase those sensations when he’d never prompted as radiant a smile as Caspar had without even trying?

Still, his foolish heart dared to hope that the scarf he had donned in the tournament contradicted his dread. 

Blinking through the haze of dreams, he muttered ruefully, “It seems that the Goddess has a soft spot for the misfortunate. Losing has its merits if I am blessed with such a mesmerizing caretaker.” 

He chortled, but a sharp pain at the base of his skull stole his breath.

Dorothea’s brows knotted. “You should be thankful that you didn’t meet the Goddess herself after that tumble.”

Ferdinand grimaced at the humiliating image. “I dare to hope that my performance was not too akin to that of a jester’s?”

“As much as I would’ve _loved_ the crowd to get a good chuckle at your noble expense, we were all more worried than amused. When that horse dragged you around the arena, I—”

Dorothea’s voice cracked, and she quickly cleared her throat. “Luckily, Caspar wasn’t afraid of the brute.”

 _Caspar._

The knowledge that Caspar was his reckless savior only made the situation more disgraceful.

For the span of several awkward heartbeats, Dorothea's gaze fell to her toes. Then, she walked away to the center of the infirmary where a pitcher and several cups were placed on a table. With her back to Ferdinand, she silently poured water into a cup, the trickle echoing amongst their silence.

At last, Ferdinand spoke, “I am sorry to have worried everyone. You most of all.”

Dorothea’s shoulders visibly tensed. “If you’re really sorry, train a lot harder so something like this never happens again.”

She turned around, stomped across the room, and foisted the cup into Ferdinand’s hand. A few droplets cascaded onto the sheets and onto his fingers.

Dorothea continued, clearly aggravated— but slightly less derisive than normal. “If you make a mistake like that on the battlefield, well, I’m sure Caspar and everyone else would be a bit too occupied to wrangle you off your horse!”

Ferdinand sat up carefully in the bed and looked down at the crystalline water in the cup. “Yes, I am certain such a mistake would be my demise. It shan’t happen again. I promise, Dorothea.”

Her anger visibly dissolved, surprise taking its place. After a brief pause, Dorothea muttered, “Good. I, um, expect you to keep that promise.”

As he drank, Dorothea avoided his gaze. Instead, she focused on combing her fingers through the ends of her hair, twisting and smoothing those delicate locks in a repetitive cycle. The afternoon light scattered through the stained glass window, bathing her in hues of orange, blue, and yellow. To Ferdinand she looked absolutely angelic.

He watched her, utterly entranced. Such a commonplace habit, some might even say a nervous tick, but Dorothea made everything into dance, made everything into art. As he stared, a muddled, surreal sensation tickled across his forearm. Lucid dream or not, he felt Dorothea’s fingers tie the scarf around his bicep yet again. 

Each twist tugged like the string of a marionette onto his heart.

He had to answer that command. He had to know if that favor meant anything to her. Because it meant _everything_ to him.

Thirst satisfied and throat no longer dry, he sat the near-empty water cup on the side table and took a deep, steadying breath. 

“Doro—” he began but a hammer at the door resounded back and forth in his skull, like the toll of the Cathedral bell.

Ferdinand winced and cradled his throbbing forehead as Dorothea rushed to the door. 

She opened it carefully and in a whisper loud enough for Ferdinand to hear, scolded the visitor, “Caspar! Do you want to knock poor Ferdie senseless again with all that racket?” 

Pitched between Dorothea’s body and the frame of the door, Ferdinand could make out Caspar’s miffed expression.

“Well, _excuse_ me!” he exclaimed exasperated, but his tone quickly switched to teasing. “My bad, didn’t realize that stealth was a requirement for being your errand boy.”

Dorothea stepped partially into the hallway. From Ferdinand’s obstructed, pain-blurred periphery, she maneuvered much closer to Caspar than proper decorum would advise. Something wicked writhed in Ferdinand’s stomach. Even if Caspar had tossed aside his House and its affiliated nobility any decent gentleman would still adhere to proper etiquette! He should maintain appropriate distance, unless...

“Aw, but I really do appreciate my little helper!” Dorothea cooed as she accepted a serving tray with a teapot, teacups, and a plate of sliced bread and cheese from Caspar. “Really, Caspar you’re a lifesaver.”

“Eh, it’s nothing.” He shrugged. “How’s Ferdinand doin’?”

“He just woke up. I’m sure he’ll be grateful you whipped this up from him.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure. Last time he said my tea was so disgraceful, he’d pass for coffee, and you know how he sticks his nose up to that stuff! Oh, well. Good thing I didn’t brew it this time!”

“My, my, are we passing our chores off to someone else now?” Dorothea playfully reprimanded. “I didn't think that was in our terms.”

“Hey, I don’t remember signing any fine print!” Caspar groused.

Balancing the tray in one arm, Dorothea tapped a finger to her chin. “Maybe it's just me, but I could have sworn our agreement didn't have a clause about getting outside help. I mean, I might have been open to adding it before we made the bet, but doing it afterwards seems like poor sportsmanship. Or are you hinting that _someone else's_ offer was more important to you?"

She leaned forward and rubbed her thumb in circles over his cheek. Caspar went rigid.

Ferdinand’s heart throbbed, a pain more acute than the migraine splitting his head. Those same fingers had brushed his matted hair aside, had tied a favor so tenderly to his arm, and yet, she held her hand to Caspar’s cheek with an ease and comfort that juxtaposed the hesitance of his experiences most dramatically.

“L-look, I wasn’t going around asking for help,” Caspar flustered and jerked away. “And I didn’t see any reason to turn down an offer, so I— I—”

“You’re blushing, Caspar.” Dorothea’s tease sent an unpleasant shiver down Ferdinand’s spine. “Also, you forgot the creamer.”

“Huh? No I didn’t— oh.” He glanced down, his face now apple-red. “Guess I did.”

“Would you be a doll and run back and fetch me some?”

He shook both his head and hands simultaneously. “Nope, nuh-uh. You know, I actually got my own stuff to do.”

“How heartless. Would you really subject your darling Dorothea to go without cream in her tea, after you were so kind to bring it?”

Caspar shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, come on. Don’t give me those eyes!” They stared down one another in silence for several moments until he acquiesced with a heavy sigh. “Ugh, fine! I hate this! Anything else, your _highness_?”

“Nope! After that you’re off the hook.” Her voice turned devious as she added, “For now. But maybe I’ll think of another favor later tonight.” 

Covetous fury consumed the remnants of Ferdinand’s hazy sense. Never before had walloping Caspar sounded so appealing, despicable as the thought may be. The room spun as the pain in both his head and heart overwhelmed him, but one truth anchored him to this hell.

Ferdinand von Aegir was in love with a woman who clearly liked someone else.

“Well, hate to disappoint you but my evening schedule is booked up,” Caspar replied sarcastically. “Got training and, uh, other stuff to do.” 

He turned to leave, but stopped short. “That reminds me. Noon sharp tomorrow. We’re meeting at the market square, remember?”

Dorothea giggled as she waved him goodbye. “I haven’t forgotten. Actually, I’ve been looking forward to it. Sounds like it’s going to be a hoot.”

His voice grew faint as he retreated down the hall. “Uh-huh. Well, we’re grabbing lunch first. I’m gonna need some real stamina to endure all that shopping.”

With a final wave— and another accompanying laugh—Dorothea closed the door and sauntered back into the infirmary. The tray and its contents rattled in her hands as she approached Ferdinand, who swallowed his envy and retired back to the pillow. His attempts to feign rest proved extremely difficult as his heartbeat drummed in his ears, growing more and more unruly with each click of serveware. 

“Sorry about the disturbance,” she said as she placed the tray on the table adjacent to the bed, mindful of his discarded cup. “I thought a bit of tea and some snacks would help raise your spirits. As you no doubt overheard, Caspar helped me out.”

“How... _considerate_ of him,” Ferdinand offered after a moment’s deliberation. He rose to an elbow as Dorothea poured the tea into each cup. “I would not have expected him to play nursemaid.”

She giggled at that, and it only managed to wound him further.

Chagrined, he accepted the teacup Dorothea offered. “Was he here the entire time I was unconscious?”

Dorothea sat down on the edge of the bed, mere inches from his knee, and nodded. “For a time, yes, but you know him. Just couldn’t sit still.”

In jest, she repeatedly tapped her heel against the floor, exaggerating Caspar’s chronic habit. A smile stretched across her face the entire antic, forcing Ferdinand to pull his eyes away with a heaviness in his chest. However, the contents of his teacup offered little respite. The sweet fragrances of apple and cinnamon wafted up from the brew in Ferdinand’s hands. 

How very _considerate_ of Caspar to procure Dorothea’s favorite blend.

“Well, I suppose I was not much for company,” he said ruefully and blew at his tea. When he took a careful sip, he found the beverage unpleasantly lukewarm. He coughed, barely able to swallow the liquid. “It is a tad bit cold.”

“Is it?” Dorothea asked and then took a dainty sip of her own cup. Immediately she snickered, “Oh, it’s more than a tad, Ferdie. I’ll have to remember to tease Caspar about this later. He _had_ been gone for nearly an hour.”

A frown pulled at Ferdinand’s lips, but he managed to reverse it. “You quite enjoy teasing him, do you not?”

Over her teacup, Dorothea’s smile turned mischievous. “Oh, just a little bit. And by a little bit, I mean a lot. It’s all in good fun though.”

Bitterly, Ferdinand thought how it rarely was “in good fun” when Dorothea teased him.

He placed the tea back on the tray. “Perhaps some well-meaning jests will encourage him to brew proper tea.”

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea simpered. “I think he’s motivated by a few other factors at the moment.”

Ferdinand swallowed. Although Dorothea sat so very close, never before had she felt so far away. Not even during their tumultuous academy days. Not even when he believed her to be a water nymph separated from the boundaries of this world.

Those marionette strings tugged again, but this time he could feel them snapping. 

“A second son is a worthy enough match, I suppose,” he said, his jaw slack. 

Dorothea hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure there will be plenty of others who will object. Pesky brothers, for example.” She leaned forward, cupping her chin in one hand, and a dreamy quality saturated her lilt. “But love has its ways of overcoming all obstacles, doesn’t it?”

Leonie’s javelin must have surely pierced his heart. The wound manifested hours late, but it struck a death blow.  
  
He should want Dorothea to be happy, should he not?

His chest felt tight as he bore its contents in a whisper, voice bleak and quivering. “If that is the case, I suppose I must get a handle on this unruly heart of mine, mustn’t I?

Dorothea blinked at him. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Ferdinand chuckled, and it did nothing to dislodge the petty emotion from his breast. “Forgive me for burdening you with this unwelcomed confession, but you consumed my every thought during the joust. Even when I should have been concentrating, I could not rid you from my mind.”

His eyes fell to his hands, which clenched into tight fists around the bed sheets.

“However…” Ferdinand tried to draw in a steadying breath, and found it lodged somewhere between his heart and his throat. “I have been deeply foolish, with only myself to blame. You have made your heart known, and I must concede.”

Dorothea’s brows pinched together in confusion. “You’re speaking in riddles, Ferdie. Whatever are you rambling on about?”

“To speak plainly, I fancied that you possessed an affinity towards me, but I now understand that the gift of your favor was merely a friendly gesture.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “And how did you determine that?”

Ferdinand swallowed. “You need not hide it, Dorothea. Love is nothing to be ashamed of. Your smile never has such effulgence in my presence as it does when you are in Caspar’s company.”

A palpable silence brewed between them, colder than the apple-flavored tea.

Then, Dorothea’s jaw fell open. “Hold up! _Caspar?_ ” she spluttered and shoved her teacup into Ferdinand’s chest. “Do you feel faint, Ferdie? I think you better drink up. Caspar did say you were delirious when he freed you from the stirrups. Clearly, you still are.”

“I am perfectly sound of mind,” Ferdinand said solemnly. “I believe more so than I have been in a long time.”

“Really?” Dorothea questioned, a sardonic frown at her lips. “I’m not so sure of that.”

“Dorothea, please do not wound my heart further with charades. As I said, there is nothing to hide. Caspar is an excellent match for you. He is not so high in station that other nobles would scrutinize —“

Dorothea pinched the bridge of her nose and released a beleaguered sigh, effectively interrupting him. “Listen, Ferdie. I don’t know how hard you hit your head in that joust, but I have absolutely _no_ romantic feelings for Caspar. None! If anything, he’s like a little brother.”

She looked him pointedly in the eye. “And if your eyes were working at all, you’d have noticed he’s adorably infatuated with Hilda.” 

The marionette strings fell slack. And Ferdinand wasn’t sure if the consequences of his injury had taken their toll on his mind. Dreams and reality blended together as one.

“But y-you caressed his cheek!” he stammered, incredulous. “And if my ears did not deceive me you two have an outing planned tomorrow afternoon.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “Oh, I was just rubbing off the lipstick he had smudged all over his face. And that so called date isn’t anything to get in a tizzy about. I’m just helping him pick out something special for Hilda.”

Ferdinand’s heart stopped, his breath ceased. Like the lull in a joust before a victor emerges— that unnerving moment of certainty. However, a second later, the crowd roared inside his mind, and all the dread and doubt writhing around the pit of his stomach transformed into an unabashed giddiness. Loathe as he was to admit such unnoble pomposity, he felt something akin to triumph. 

Caspar did _not_ rule Dorothea’s heart. 

Cautiously, dubiously, he inquired, “T-then….the favor you bestowed upon me before the start of the tournament— was my original speculation correct? Was it a testament to your own affections towards me?”

Dorothea recoiled back. A pretty blush rose to her cheeks as she flustered, “You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just thought it would help me get a leg up on Caspar if I encouraged you a bit...by flirting.”

A wry grin spread across Ferdinand’s face. “I am not entirely convinced that is the whole of it. No, on the contrary, I surmise that you gifted me your favor because you _do_ possess romantic feelings towards me.”

Her eyes flew wide. “My, aren’t you making all the brash assertions today, Ferdie.”

He shuffled closer to her on the bed— and notably, she did not retreat— and abandoned her teacup on the tray with the other. He chuckled, “Perhaps the adrenaline of the match is still coursing through my veins. I do feel rather dauntless.” 

Ferdinand’s grin grew even wider. “As you have dodged the matter, I am even more confident that my conjecture is correct.”

Dorothea’s eyes snapped to her lap and her fingers found solace in her brown locks, twisting curls. “Well, it’s not entirely wrong.” 

Dauntless, indeed, Ferdinand pressed, “Then...could I selfishly request your indulgence? I would like to know if your heart has changed. If there is room for Ferdinand von Aegir within its chambers.”

He’d never heard his own voice tremble so much.

Dorothea’s hand stopped, fingers knotting into the bottom of her hair. “Well,” she began, and paused to swallow. “I definitely see you in a better light than before. A...much better light.”

“I... see.” Ferdinand frowned. 

A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “It’s not that bleak, I promise.”

She placed her hand atop his and held, tender and confident. Warmth washed over his skin as the moment dragged on. He wasn’t dreaming. The gesture wasn’t fleeting.

“This light, well, it’s like a dazzling stage light,” Dorothea continued, eyes on their hands. “Before you were lost behind the curtains, and I couldn’t see the real you. But now the spotlight is aimed right on you.” 

She lifted her gaze and smiled, shy but it wholly reached her eyes. “You’re center stage and I can’t peel my eyes away.”

Dorothea’s confession struck more fatal than any lance ever could. And the accompanying smile buried Ferdinand six feet under.

That smile was not the same she donned for Caspar, nor in any opera. Sweet, relaxed, endearing, true, and so much more. It sung a thousand words without a single lyric. 

And it was for _him._

Ferdinand laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. “Dorothea, when you tied that favor upon my arm, I thought my heart might burst,” he confessed, finding her emerald gaze. “To me, it was more than just a scrap of cloth. I carried it as a proud token of regard. Honestly, I thought you despised me till recently. So to receive any sort of favor from you... I had hoped it had not been my imagination. I hoped that you may even love me... as I love you.”

Dorothea gasped ever so softly. At a loss, he squeezed her hand again.

A bit frantic, a bit scared, she stammered, “Oh, Ferdie, I— I don’t know about love and all that just yet!”

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and when she reopened them, she fixed him with a determined regard. “But I— I wouldn’t mind giving you—giving _us_ —the chance to find out.”

As Ferdinand’s arms folded around her waist, he realized it was not triumphant he felt earlier. No, he revered Dorothea far too greatly for that selfish emotion. Instead, he felt completely and utterly _blessed_.

“That is enough, Dorothea,” he whispered fondly as he ran his fingers through her soft hair. ”That is more than enough.” 

Her hands shook against his back as wet silent tears slipped down his neck. “Is it really?” she asked, voice cracking under a sob. “I don’t even understand. How can you love me? For so long I was nothing but cruel to you. I don’t deserve— you’re probably...probably just confusing love w-with infatuation...or lust or— ”

“Hearts are foolish,” Ferdinand answered with a shake of his head. “Insensible. Incorrigible. Reckless. But I know the depths of my affections for you, even if pretty words fall short to justify such endearments. When you gave me your favor, I felt invigorated. I felt no enemy could lay a scratch on me.”

A bit chagrined, he chuckled. “Perhaps the Goddess punished me for my arrogance, but as soon as you tied that scarf taunt, I felt infallible. That is _how_ I know I love you.”

Dorothea’s body went slack in his arms. “It’s just a token, Ferdie.”

“Quite so,” he agreed. “But it contained a piece of your heart, and that is what resonated with me. One glance and I was reminded of your touch, of your smile, and of your kindness.”

He pulled away from their embrace in order to cup her chin. “If you would allow it, I would be honored to draw strength from it in all battles henceforth.”

Her gaze flitted away shyly. “That scarf’s all but ruined,” she said. A moment later her smile turned coy. “But I think I have an idea for a replacement. Though, I suppose, this one isn’t something you can wear for too long.”

Perplexed, Ferdinand asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

Dorothea’s lips upon his cheek answered the question. And Ferdinand was stunned to silence.

As she pulled away, she giggled, “Caspar told me all about how you were begging him for a victory kiss from your ‘beloved, Dorothea.’”

Mortified, Ferdinand’s cheeks turned to fire. Surely, the rouge from Dorothea’s lips blended perfectly into the red tint of his skin. “I...I do not recall making such a shameful request. Please, let me emphasize that I would never dishonor you— “

A finger to his lips silenced him. 

“Oh, hush, Ferdie. I may as well divulge the good news: You won the tournament! You scored the most points despite your unfortunate tumble.” She swept his hair behind his ear. “As your reward...your Queen gives you a piece of her heart.”

The grin that adorned his face was surely that of a fool’s.

Quickly, Dorothea held out a hand and added, “But, it’s just a small piece. For now. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Ferdinand chuckled warmly, “Even if it is but a shard, if it is from you, Dorothea, I will cherish it dearly. 

He glanced to the door and then leaned close to Dorothea. “Might I be so bold as to request another before Caspar returns with the creamer?”

Dorothea smiled in that ethereal manner yet again and then adorned his other cheek with a matching token.

* * *

Two moons later, a commotion broke across the courtyard gardens of Garreg Mach during Ferdinand and Dorothea’s daily teatime. Just as Caspar and Hilda exited the cafeteria, Balthus challenged the former Black Eagle to a duel, stipulating that Caspar must defeat him in order to earn Hilda’s hand in marriage. Quickly, the encounter evolved into the most entertaining theater that had graced the Officers Academy since Dorothea’s last charity opera.

As a heated argument regarding Hilda’s right to her own decisions boomed in the backdrop, Dorothea leaned across the patio table and smiled slyly over her teacup at Ferdinand.

“Who do you wager will emerge the victor?” she asked. “My heart wants to bet on Caspar, but apparently Balthus is the Anointed King of Scuffles or whatever.”

Ferdinand entwined her free hand with his own, and said confidently, “Without question Caspar will win. When a man fights for love he is infallible.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/roxyryoko)! Kudos and comments always appreciated!


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